


Things You Said in Medical

by Nny11



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Light Angst, M/M, POV First Person, Pining, Pre-Order 66 but not by much, Prompt Fic, Rex is trying to help you you gundark, Sad, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Love, no editing we die like meh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2020-03-09 20:21:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18924367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nny11/pseuds/Nny11
Summary: You’d drop little hints and quips, and I think you counted the times you got me to laugh. I know I counted the times you looked at me with such adoration that my heart nearly gave out. But years go by and people change.You changed.





	Things You Said in Medical

**Author's Note:**

  * For [norcumi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/norcumi/gifts).



> Tumblr prompt fic from Norcumi, featuring Anakin and Rex just barely missing the mark. Maybe a bit more than just the mark.

The Outer Rim Sieges were a hell of a thing, rough and draining for both sides. We spent nearly a whole year bouncing from one to the next to the next. It was a never ending battle even if we had short breaks between.

Short breaks where I could always find you in Medical. It’s not like it was though. Before. 

I used to go to medical and find you smiling with Coric, a datapad in hand to help coordinate efforts while you healed. I don’t think anyone would argue you were a model patient, but at least you would kriffing stay in your bed until released. Of course I’d be there to help keep you from planning a classic Skywalker escape and you’d let me.

That was the thing with us, you’d  _ let _ me help. 

A call for help less a verbal request and more a sheepish grin and a half shrug, your thank you’s given out through recognition at meetings. If I was particularly lucky you’d smirk at me, lips pulled to one side and a brow quirked upwards. When you still had a regulation cut it made me laugh. My shiny little General trying his best with his rosy apple cheeks. You’d drop little hints and quips, and I think you counted the times you got me to laugh. I know I counted the times you looked at me with such adoration that my heart nearly gave out. But years go by and people change.

You changed. 

You were a constant, a blinding star that would still guide us true right until you weren’t. You got quiet kid. You got distant and rough and formal. You changed and I recognized the symptoms of burn out, so I reached out. Because you’d let me help.

“Rex,” your voice was brittle as glass and twice as sharp, “I appreciate your concern, but the men need you more than I do. Keep your focus Captain.”

It wasn’t cruel. It wasn’t vindictive. It wasn’t even a lie. But it was cold and distant. Your refusal saying more than the words or the tone you took.

“Of course sir,” I remember saying. Or something like that. Something unremarkable.

You noticed, of course you did you always do, and reached out to take my hand. “Wait! Rex, I’m sorry, I just, I’m going to be alright. I’m just...still tired from the campaign. I’ll rest up here, Kix will make sure of it. Take care of the men for me. Please.”

Right there in the blinding white lights of medical, the ones that washed out features but highlighted imperfections in everyone’s skin, you looked so small. I wanted to keep holding your hand. I wanted to tell you that you were important too. I wanted to tell you that I understood but that you were my priority. You always were my priority. But I didn’t.

You gave a call for help and I listed to the words and not the pauses in between. I left before I could find out exactly what that niggling feeling could become between us. I fled the battle when I was winning.

It was a rookie mistake.

For that, I’m sorry.

**Author's Note:**

> Let them be happy, I say as if I am not the person that wrote this.


End file.
